A Reckless Character, and Other Stories Part 23

XIV

Platonida Ivanova was unspeakably delighted at the return of her nephew.

She had thought all sorts of things during his absence!--"At the very least he has gone to Siberia!" she whispered, as she sat motionless in her little chamber: "for a year at the very least!"--Moreover the cook had frightened her by imparting the most authentic news concerning the disappearance of first one, then another young man from the neighbourhood. Yasha's complete innocence and trustworthiness did not in the least serve to calm the old woman.--"Because ... much that signifies!--he busies himself with photography ... well, and that is enough! Seize him!" And now here was her Yashenka come back to her safe and sound! She did notice, it is true, that he appeared to have grown thin, and his face seemed to be sunken--that was comprehensible ... he had had no one to look after him. But she did not dare to question him concerning his trip. At dinner she inquired:

"And is Kazan a nice town?"

"Yes," replied Aratoff.

"Tatars live there, I believe?"

"Not Tatars only."

"And hast not thou brought a khalat[65] thence?"

"No, I have not."

And there the conversation ended.

But as soon as Aratoff found himself alone in his study he immediately felt as though something were embracing him round about, as though he were again in _the power_,--precisely that, in the power of another life, of another being. Although he had told Anna--in that outburst of sudden frenzy--that he was in love with Clara, that word now seemed to him devoid of sense and whimsical.--No, he was not in love; and how could he fall in love with a dead woman, whom, even during her lifetime he had not liked, whom he had almost forgotten?--No! But he was in the power of ... in _her_ power ... he no longer belonged to himself. He had been _taken possession of_. Taken possession of to such a point that he was no longer trying to free himself either by ridiculing his own stupidity, or by arousing in himself if not confidence, at least hope that all this would pa.s.s over, that it was nothing but nerves,--or by seeking proofs of it,--or in any other way!--"If I meet him I shall take him" he recalled Clara's words reported by Anna ... and so now he had been taken.

But was not she dead? Yes; her body was dead ... but how about her soul?--Was not that immortal ... did it require bodily organs to manifest its power? Magnetism has demonstrated to us the influence of the living human soul upon another living human soul.... Why should not that influence be continued after death, if the soul remains alive?--But with what object? What might be the result of this?--But do we, in general, realise the object of everything which goes on around us?

These reflections occupied Aratoff to such a degree that at tea he suddenly asked Platosha whether she believed in the immortality of the soul. She did not understand at first what it was he had asked; but afterward she crossed herself and replied, "of course. How could the soul be otherwise than immortal?"

"But if that is so, can it act after death?" Aratoff put a second question.

The old woman replied that it could ... that is to say, it can pray for us; when it shall have pa.s.sed through all sorts of tribulations, and is awaiting the Last Judgment. But during the first forty days it only hovers around the spot where its death occurred.

"During the first forty days?"

"Yes; and after that come its tribulations."[66]

Aratoff was surprised at his aunt's erudition, and went off to his own room.--And again he felt the same thing, that same power upon him. The power was manifested thus--that the image of Clara incessantly presented itself to him, in its most minute details,--details which he did not seem to have observed during her lifetime; he saw ... he saw her fingers, her nails, the bands of hair on her cheeks below her temples, a small mole under the left eye; he saw the movement of her lips, her nostrils, her eyebrows ... and what sort of a gait she had, and how she held her head a little on the right side ... he saw everything!--He did not admire all this at all; he simply could not help thinking about it and seeing it.--Yet he did not dream about her during the first night after his return ... he was very weary and slept like one slain. On the other hand, no sooner did he awake than she again entered his room, and there she remained, as though she had been its owner; just as though she had purchased for herself that right by her voluntary death, without asking him or requiring his permission.

He took her photograph; he began to reproduce it, to enlarge it. Then it occurred to him to arrange it for the stereoscope. It cost him a great deal of trouble, but at last he succeeded. He fairly started when he beheld through the gla.s.s her figure which had acquired the semblance of bodily substance. But that figure was grey, as though covered with dust ... and moreover, the eyes ... the eyes still gazed aside, as though they were averting themselves. He began to gaze at them for a long, long time, as though expecting that they might, at any moment, turn themselves in his direction ... he even puckered up his eyes deliberately ... but the eyes remained motionless, and the whole figure a.s.sumed the aspect of a doll. He went away, threw himself into an arm-chair, got out the leaf which he had torn from her diary, with the underlined words, and thought: "They say that people in love kiss the lines which have been written by a beloved hand; but I have no desire to do that--and the chirography appears to me ugly into the bargain. But in that line lies my condemnation."--At this point there flashed into his mind the promise he had made to Anna about the article. He seated himself at his table, and set about writing it; but everything he wrote turned out so rhetorical ... worst of all, so artificial ... just as though he did not believe in what he was writing, or in his own feelings ... and Clara herself seemed to him unrecognisable, incomprehensible!

She would not yield herself to him.

"No," he thought, throwing aside his pen, "either I have no talent for writing in general, or I must wait a while yet!"

He began to call to mind his visit to the Milovidoffs, and all the narration of Anna, of that kind, splendid Anna.... The word she had uttered: "unsullied!" suddenly struck him. It was exactly as though something had scorched and illuminated him.

"Yes," he said aloud, "she was unsullied and I am unsullied.... That is what has given her this power!"

Thoughts concerning the immortality of the soul, the life beyond the grave, again visited him. "Is it not said in the Bible: 'O death, where is thy sting?' And in Schiller: 'And the dead also shall live!' (_Auch die Todten sollen leben!_)--Or here again, in Mickiewicz, 'I shall love until life ends ... and after life ends!'--While one English writer has said: 'Love is stronger than death!'"--The biblical sentence acted with peculiar force on Aratoff. He wanted to look up the place where those words were to be found.... He had no Bible; he went to borrow one from Platosha. She was astonished; but she got out an old, old book in a warped leather binding with bra.s.s clasps, all spotted with wax, and handed it to Aratoff. He carried it off to his own room, but for a long time could not find that verse ... but on the other hand, he hit upon another:

"Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends".... (the Gospel of John, Chap. XV, verse 13).

He thought: "That is not properly expressed.--It should read: 'Greater _power_ hath no man!'"....

"But what if she did not set her soul on me at all? What if she killed herself merely because life had become a burden to her?--What if she, in conclusion, did not come to that tryst with the object of obtaining declarations of love at all?"

But at that moment Clara before her parting on the boulevard rose up before him.... He recalled that sorrowful expression on her face, and those tears, and those words:--"Akh, you have understood nothing!"

No! He could not doubt for what object and for what person she had laid down her life....

Thus pa.s.sed that day until nightfall.

XV

Aratoff went early to bed, without feeling particularly sleepy; but he hoped to find rest in bed. The strained condition of his nerves caused him a fatigue which was far more intolerable than the physical weariness of the journey and the road. But great as was his fatigue, he could not get to sleep. He tried to read ... but the lines got entangled before his eyes. He extinguished his candle, and darkness took possession of his chamber.--But he continued to lie there sleepless, with closed eyes.... And now it seemed to him that some one was whispering in his ear.... "It is the beating of my heart, the rippling of the blood," he thought.... But the whisper pa.s.sed into coherent speech. Some one was talking Russian hurriedly, plaintively, and incomprehensibly. It was impossible to distinguish a single separate word.... But it was Clara's voice!

Aratoff opened his eyes, rose up in bed, propped himself on his elbows.... The voice grew fainter, but continued its plaintive, hurried, unintelligible speech as before....

It was indubitably Clara's voice!

Some one's fingers ran over the keys of the piano in light arpeggios....

Then the voice began to speak again. More prolonged sounds made themselves audible ... like moans ... always the same. And then words began to detach themselves....

"Roses ... roses ... roses."....

"Roses," repeated Aratoff in a whisper.--

"Akh, yes! The roses which I saw on the head of that woman in my dream...."

"Roses," was audible again.

"Is it thou?" asked Aratoff, whispering as before.

The voice suddenly ceased.

Aratoff waited ... waited--and dropped his head on his pillow. "A hallucination of hearing," he thought. "Well, and what if ... what if she really is here, close to me?... What if I were to see her, would I be frightened? But why should I be frightened? Why should I rejoice?

Possibly because it would be a proof that there is another world, that the soul is immortal.--But, however, even if I were to see anything, that also might be a hallucination of the sight"....

Nevertheless he lighted his candle, and shot a glance over the whole room not without some trepidation ... and descried nothing unusual in it. He rose, approached the stereoscope ... and there again was the same grey doll, with eyes which gazed to one side. The feeling of alarm in Aratoff was replaced by one of vexation. He had been, as it were, deceived in his expectations ... and those same expectations appeared to him absurd.--"Well, this is downright stupid!" he muttered as he got back into bed, and blew out his light. Again profound darkness reigned in the room.

Aratoff made up his mind to go to sleep this time.... But a new sensation had cropped up within him. It seemed to him as though some one were standing in the middle of the room, not far from him, and breathing in a barely perceptible manner. He hastily turned round, opened his eyes.... But what could be seen in that impenetrable darkness?--He began to fumble for a match on his night-stand ... and suddenly it seemed to him as though some soft, noiseless whirlwind dashed across the whole room, above him, through him--and the words: "'Tis I!" rang plainly in his ears. "'Tis I! 'Tis I!..."

Several moments pa.s.sed before he succeeded in lighting a match.

Again there was no one in the room, and he no longer heard anything except the violent beating of his own heart. He drank a gla.s.s of water, and remained motionless, with his head resting on his hand.

He said to himself: "I will wait. Either this is all nonsense ... or she is here. She will not play with me like a cat with a mouse!" He waited, waited a long time ... so long that the hand on which he was propping his head became numb ... but not a single one of his previous sensations was repeated. A couple of times his eyes closed.... He immediately opened them ... at least, it seemed to him that he opened them.

Gradually they became riveted on the door and so remained. The candle burned out and the room became dark once more ... but the door gleamed like a long, white spot in the midst of the gloom. And lo! that spot began to move, it contracted, vanished ... and in its place, on the threshold, a female form made its appearance. Aratoff looked at it intently ... it was Clara! And this time she was gazing straight at him, she moved toward him.... On her head was a wreath of red roses.... It kept undulating, rising....